#ghost cod smut

Something about you that made him stop, that made him feel like there was something bordering on good in this world he’d seen so much horror in. Something that made him listen to you at the bar as you so shamelessly flirted up the 6’4 blonde soldier in a black surgical mask.

Something about you that had you and him moving in to a house together barely six months in with no complains from the man, because he enjoyed it. Enjoyed every damn second of the meticulous bullshit you put him through, like how the walls couldn’t be white because that was boring so instead they had to be alabaster.

“They’re the same damn shade.” He’d responded as he looked between the paint samples you’d given him, only for you to laugh and explain that Alabaster would look better with all the colorful decor you’d be putting up.

“I don’t want people to think we’re boring and beige..” You’d responded before walking away all too happily to go get paint mixed…Simon still thinks you should’ve just painted the whole place black. But he never complained, he gave you the closest thing he had to a smile and followed you without hesitation.

Because for as unworthy and depraved as Simon Riley believed himself to be, he was still at the end of the day only a man. A man who wanted to leave behind more than dog tags and a folded flag that would go nowhere. And you were his key in being more than the unworthy bastard he was, and he knew it simply by the way you shifted in his arms to push yourself closer to him.

“Needy thing.” He teased gently, his words a fallen whisper from his lips as his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer. He relished in the way your leg draped over him, lifting so shamelessly before your thigh was draped across the expanse of his waist and your leg had fallen to the other side of the mattress.

“I don’t wanna hear it…” you mumbled out softly, your eyes shut tightly in a state of half-sleep. You could feel the way Simon chuckled, the way his rough calloused hands gently gripped your thigh and kept you anchored against him like he always did. You felt the way his thumb pressed in to the plush of your skin, as If he was feeling for something, for anything that might make him wake up from this dream or prove that you weren’t real.

“Si…” You grumbled softly at his squeezing, your hand finding his own and stilling the motion as you earned a soft sigh from the man. You knew that some nights he looked at you and wondered what he did to deserve you, and by the way his hands were already moving to pull you on top of him you knew that tonight was one of these nights.

“Need you..” He whispered, “I need you close baby, need to know you’re here.”

His lips were quick in peppering kisses on your face, then to your jaw, and then down your neck as his hands anchored themselves on your waist to keep you from going anywhere. You grumbled softly, being woken up from your sleep with every kiss he pressed against your skin as they grew more and more desperate.

“I’m here..” you answered in earnest, trying to ignore the feeling of his hands guiding your hips to grind against him slowly and stirring your body to life from the simplest actions. Simon groaned softly under you, his lips against your neck leaving harder more deft kisses in their wake. You could feel how easily he strained against the front of his pants, the way his hands pulled you down to grind harder against him.

“Baby please..” he mumbled softly, his hips pressing up in to yours so gently as he tested the waters of If you’d let him have you tonight. He always did, one little gesture to see if you’d let him have you no matter how desperate he was, he needed to know you wanted him before he could let himself hold you.

You could’ve teased him, made fun of him for calling you needy when he was the truly desperate one, but as he looked up at you with his eyes full of unease and a fear that you’d slip away, you could feel your heart ache. It was a genuine rarity to see Simon without his mask of a hardened veteran, without the mean exterior he showed the world, so to see him so soft beneath you and desperate for the only love he allowed himself to know, you caved instantly.

“I want you..” You whispered softly, leaning your body against his before bringing your lips down and kissing him slowly.

And Simon returned your kiss as if it was the only thing he knew how to do right.

He kissed you slowly at first until he decided slow didn’t convey how much he needed you, and then he was parting your lips with his tongue and rolling you over on the bed. Your back hit the mattress and his body covered yours, his legs keeping your thighs spread as he nestled himself against the junction of your thighs.

Simon swallowed the moan that spilled from your lips as he ground himself against you in deep heavy rolls of his hips, and when you put your hands on him gripping at his biceps he wasted no time in sending his own hand traveling down your body.

His hand slid down your stomach, sliding right past the waistband of your cute little sleep shorts before ignoring the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side and letting his fingers rub slow circles in to your wet heat.

“That’s my pretty girl.…” He whispered softly, his lips abandoning yours so he could nip and bite at the skin of your neck and shoulders. You could feel your teeth dig in to your bottom lip, biting back a desperate whine as he dipped one of his rough calloused fingers in to your pussy like it was nothing.

One was followed by another, and he was quick and efficient as he scissored them inside of you. The use of his fingers was simply a formality and you knew it, the way he dipped his fingers impatiently in to you so he could stretch you out so you’d fit his cock, it was all a trial of his control. Yet tonight you weren’t sure if he had any control left to be had as he bit out a low curse and withdrew his hand. The absence of his fingers immediately made your pussy clench with need, and the sight of Simon putting his fingers between his lips and sucking them clean of you made you moan.

“I don’t have fuckin time for this….need you now.” He hissed before his hands were on your ass and he was hauling you over, putting you on your knees before pushing your upper body down into the mattress so you were pliant and arched. He kept one of his hands on your upper back, right between your shoulder blades while his other hand made quick work of discarding your shorts and panties, dropping them down to your knees without hesitation.

“You’re so pretty. Got such a pretty pussy, I don’t know what I did to deserve this.” He practically gasped out the words as you felt him eye you, his breath stuttering as he tore down his sweatpants and boxers until they clung to his thighs. He didn’t care about clothes, didn’t care about being bare or being proper, he cared about you. Or better yet, being in you. Proving to himself that he could have you, and love you, and make you feel so damn good you’d never go anywhere else.

So he lined himself up, and he pushed his cock in to you with a fiery resolve and a deep rumbling groan, one accompanied by your own broken moan.

“Si…” You called for him softly, earning a soft ‘shh’ from his lips as his hips began to piston in and out of you at a steady pace.

“I got you baby…gonna make you feel so fucking good.” He practically moaned as he looked at you under him, his eyes drinking in the sight of your back arched in to the mattress beneath you and the way your ass rippled with every slap of his thighs against yours. God you were a vision, a dream personified, and Simon loved it.

He loved you. Even if it was hard for him to verbalize all the time, you knew he loved you, knew that he knew you. You could feel it in the way he angled his hips, adjusting your bodies so you felt every drag of his cock to its full extent. You could feel it in the way his hand slid from your shoulders and to the small of your back, pressing down gently to adjust the arch of your back as his knees parted yours an inch more so he could thrust deeper.

Because Simon had studied you, he’d spent months watching and taking mental notes of how to fuck you so good every time he got you in to bed. He knew how to make you moan, to drag gasps from your lips, how to make you cum over and over again.

He knew you.

“C’mon pretty girl, lemme hear you cry.” He’d hiss out as his thrusts picked up pace, his eyes locked on your pussy and the way it swallowed him so fucking perfectly. He relished in the way you cried out his name, your hips matching his thrusts to the best of your abilities.

He sucked a breath through his teeth as his head fell forward with a brutal thrust of his hips, his chest pressing firmly against your back. He wanted to feel you, to taste you entirely, and in a frenzy his teeth found the shell of your ear and bit down just hard enough to make your breath hitch in pleasure. Your body was wrecked from the feeling of him pounding in to you, the way his hips slammed against yours without a fucking care in the world. Your senses were already peaked as his hand slipped down your body, snaking its way between your thighs as he began to bully your clit.

“Simon…you feel so good, make me feel so good.” You babbled out, lifting your head from the pillows as you felt his lips kiss and bite each inch of your skin he could get in his path before finding the junction between your neck and shoulders, and he bit down hard sucking at your skin desperately.

His fingers moved relentlessly creating a steady rhythm that made your eyes roll back when matched with the rhythm of his hips.

“When you cum, I want you to tell me you love me..” He whispered in your ear suddenly, his words broken and ragged and low in that tone that made your toes curl. He gasped and groaned against your skin, his hot breath fanning your skin as broken moans fell from his lips without any shame. He’d let you hear him any time of any day if you liked it, and from the way you were clenching around him, he figured you liked it.

A heavy gasp broke through your lips, unlike the other ones he’d freed from you previously, this one was soft and it bubbled up in your throat before forcing itself free. You knew your release was imminent, knew with the way he worked your clit so expertly that you wouldn’t last much longer.

Your hands gripped the mattress under you, sweat dripping down your skin as you panted and babbled out sweet nothings that drove Simon to work harder. A stutter of Simon’s hips sent him driving deeper in you, and with a quiver of your bottom lip your jaw fell slack and the room around you practically disappeared. You couldn’t feel your legs trembling, or hear Simon’s panting as he spilled himself inside of you, all you could feel was wave after wave of your orgasm crashing down on your body as your ears rang and you choked down a gasp of air.

“I love you.”

The ringing in your head hadn’t even subsided as you felt Simon’s hands on your hips steadying you as he pulled himself out, pulling your body against his as he rolled over on to the bed completely spent with you tucked in to his side. His chest was heaving with pleas for air as he tried to regulate his breathing, his hand tracing along your spine gently, fingers brushing the slope of your back reverently. Of course he’d touch you gently in the burning afterglow, of course he’d lay next to you with his eyes locked on the ceiling like he’d finally understood that you were his and you were staying, like some cosmic secret was just imparted on to him. And you’d laugh. You’d laugh softly, your voice crackling like the embers of a dying fire as your lungs continued to search for steadied air, but you’d laugh nonetheless. Laugh because this big beautiful idiot at your side couldn’t seem to grasp that he’d had you completely and entirely for himself from the moment you laid eyes on him in that shitty pub. But it didn’t matter, no matter how many times he would find himself lost in his own thoughts or doubting what he’d done to deserve you, you’d remind him in any way, at any time.

“I love you too.”

Simon Riley was not a good man.

He’d made peace with that. He’d had to make peace with it sometime between carving men open and being carved open himself. All the good men in his line of work ended up dead. Or worse.

So he was unapologetic and rude. Harsh. Cold. Distant. He was Ghost, the monster carved from snapping bones and gravedirt and the screams of dying men. Teeth always bared, hackles always raised, ready to lunge for the nearest throat at any moment.

Every once in a while, the creature he kept caged in his ribs would fixate, latch on to someone like a dog hunkered snarling over a prized bone. Price. Soap. Gaz. All of them. What he decided was his, was his.

So when he’d gone to Price inquiring about the new pretty thing that had caught his attention with that all too familiar look in his eyes, Price(the only man who could really give Ghost orders) knew that it was a fight he’d already lost. And when his captain gave him the green light, Ghost went hunting.

Sweet and good and all too easy to ruin. At least, that’s what he’d thought the first time he’d had them in his bed with their soft underbelly exposed to his snapping jaws and greedy hands, the pitch of their voice climbing with every vicious thing he did to them. All that sweetness split open on his cock like flesh parting beneath a knife, warm and wet and yielding. The way they squirmed when he gripped just hard enough for skin to go purple beneath his fingers. The way they were always chasing more even when tears slid down their face.

None of that was as exciting as when he discovered they had teeth of their own.

The best word for it was 'messy,' but 'desperate' and ‘brutal’ also came to mind. One of their legs was slung high over his hip, their nose tucked into the hollow of his throat as his grip dimpled the fat of their thigh and his other hand cradled the back of their head. They were far past words or coherent thoughts, puffy and sore and already so full of him from earlier in the night that the only thing they could do was dig their nails even deeper into his shoulders and weakly buck their hips up into his.

“So fuckin’ fragile.” He grunted as he ran his nose from the crook of their shoulder and up the side of their neck, just as mean with his cockhead grinding deep inside of them as he was when he spat hellfire at them over comms. “Bloody wonder you’re not dead yet.”

The only response they could muster was a pitiful whine against his shoulder, clawing at his back more out of desperation than any sort of revenge. His fingers tangled in their hair, tugging their head to the side just enough for him to press his masked face into their throat and huff in a deep breath of sweat-slicked skin.

“Could fuckin’ do it now.” He murmured as he drove his hips into them relentlessly and lapped at their fluttering pulse through his balaclava. “With my cum still drippin’ out of you an’ everything. Jus’ cause you’d let me.”

Their hips gave another weak buck at his words, grinding into his pelvis just enough to make them whimper. He chuckled smugly and bumped their jaw with his nose as he continued mouthing at their throat through the fabric of his balaclava.

“Yeah, you’d fuckin’ let me.” His grip on their thigh shifted to hike their leg higher on his hip, making it easier for them to get friction where they needed it most. He always took good care of his things, after all. “Let me cut you up, prove I own you.”

Their head lolled against his shoulder, the grinding of their hips growing more desperate while his thrusts punched breathy, strangled gasps out of their throat.

“Put my initials righ’ here.” He squeezed their thigh hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises as his pace started to stutter. “Carve ‘em right in, nice and big.”

That did it. The threat(promise? Either way, they enjoyed it) of being branded was enough for them to cum with what would have been a shriek if they hadn’t buried their teeth in the meat of his shoulder deep enough to taste blood.

And it was never too late for a man to discover new things about himself because the sting of their nails raking down his back combined with the sharp, startling pain of his skin splitting under their teeth sent his hips slamming into theirs with a grunt as he filled them yet again.

When he returned from the bathroom with a wet rag(after a rather short crisis where he stared into the mirror and questioned everything he knew about himself), they were gone. They’d run away back to their own quarters with their proverbial tail tucked between their legs and the knowledge that they had just royally fucked up.

Or so they thought. Because, three weeks later, Ghost was sporting a brand new tattoo in the meaty curve where his neck met his shoulder. A brand new tattoo that just happened to be their bitemark permanently inked into his skin and peeking out from under the edge of his balaclava. A brand new tattoo that he pushed them into a supply closet just to show off before crowding them against the wall so he could yank their pants down to their ankles and drop to his knees in front of them.

“Let me make good on my promise, yeah?” His eyes glinted with the smirk that curved across his lips beneath his mask as he produced a rather wicked-looking knife and braced his other arm against their hips to pin them back against the wall. “Hold still for me, wouldn’t want to nick anythin’ important.”

Because what he decided was his, was his.